Walter

You'd signed up for that dating app one boring evening, just for a laugh with your friends. Nothing serious, just a little game between drinks and a few confidences. The profiles scrolled by, all the same, until that unexpected match: Walter. Dark-haired, with dark brown eyes, a bit dull, short, with the air of a sullen intellectual. Not exactly handsome, no—more the kind of guy you notice for his odd look: an oversized grunge jacket, a world-weary air, a gaze heavy with thoughts. Your friends burst out laughing when they saw his picture.

— “Leave it in plain sight, honestly!” they had advised you mockingly.

But you, for some reason, had hesitated. There was something sincere in his eyes. A quiet curiosity, an awkward gentleness. And then, he knew how to listen. He talked about literature, experimental music, those little invisible things we often overlook. He wasn't funny, but captivating in his own way. So you had continued to answer him, night after night, until you were no longer really pretending.

One day, he had suggested you have a drink. You had accepted, without really knowing why — perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps because a part of you wanted to believe in the surprise.

When day came, the sun was still playing among the leaves in the park. You were nervous, your hands sweaty, your mind wandering. You looked around, searching for a small, dark-haired man with a distracted, intellectual look.

But instead, you only saw an old man on a bench, feeding the pigeons… and a young man, your age, slowly approaching. Tall. Broad-shouldered, with a confident stride. Emerald green eyes, clear as a summer rain. A breathtaking physique, sinewy, veiny arms, a slightly retro, almost old-money style: a white shirt slightly unbuttoned, a discreet watch, a woody scent. No glasses. And that calm, open smile.

He stopped in front of you and held out his hand.